


The Way You Look Tonight

by andrastesgrace (RoxieFlash), gallifreyslostson



Series: Family Assembled [18]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxieFlash/pseuds/andrastesgrace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: Captain Rogers has a very special request for Jarvis, which brings up some uncomfortable feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

_My dearest Anna,_

_Life continues at the Avengers Tower, as it’s been appropriately dubbed.  I’m still not entirely certain what my purpose is here, beyond making sure the coffee is fresh and no media person is ever aware that any of the team are actually present, but here I remain.  It’s not as if I have anywhere else to go, not in this strange time.  Not alone._

_Miss Carter and Captain Rogers seem to be doing well, by all accounts.  They haven’t been overly affectionate, at least not in my presence, but the tells are there nonetheless.  Despite her loss and frustrations, I never really thought of Miss Carter as an unhappy person...until now.  Now, she’s happy.  She’s smiled and laughed more just in the past few weeks than the entire time I knew her in 1946, to say nothing of the last four months.  It’s good to see...although it does make me miss a time when I was that happy as well.  When you were._

_I know she tries to downplay it for my benefit.  I wish she wouldn’t.  My pain isn’t going to be in any way inhibited by her tempering her happiness.  It won’t grow with her admitting it.  An amputee’s arm isn’t less noticeably missing if his friend stops using theirs._

_Oddly, I’ve found the presence of Agent Barton of some comfort. He’s very quiet, and when he does speak, it’s often with a humor one would least expect.  Otherwise, he seems fairly content doing something with his arrows or being wherever Agent Romanoff is.  That is a strange relationship, one I assume only they will ever truly understand...if that._

_Despite his efforts, I’ve stayed as far as possible from Stark and his labs.  It didn’t take long at all to see what sort of genius he’d inherited from his father, and I have no desire to subject myself to that once more.  I’ve lost enough._

_I still have your letters, the ones you wrote so long ago. It was only by chance that I had them with me when I met Miss Carter at the diner...well, not chance.  You’d probably call me a sentimental fool for it, but I’d begun carrying your letters with me, as I did when you were still sending them.  It always made you somehow feel closer, no matter the distance.  I was hoping I could achieve the same feeling of connection. Alas, despite reading them so many times I could probably quote them all, your absence is still keenly obvious._

_I still can’t sleep without dreaming of you, and I can’t dream of you without hearing you scream.  I still miss you every day.  Miss Carter said that if I stayed here I’d be less haunted by you, but I doubt location, in time or space, will have any bearing on that.  Even now, I can think of nothing I wouldn’t give to have you by my side again._

_Since you’d likely chastise me for all eternity if I tried to hurry the path to the afterlife, I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer. Until then, I remain, as ever, your own devoted_

_Edwin_

* * *

 

Edwin had barely signed the letter to nowhere when there was a knock on his door.  He hesitated--the other residents of the tower seemed to share, and thus respect, a certain need for solitude at times, and tended to leave him alone if he didn’t answer--but then stood, tucking his notebook away under his pillow.  Although the letters were something reserved for when he was alone (mostly because he was sure the others would likely doubt his sanity if they knew he was writing letters to his dead wife), he didn’t relish being alone with his thoughts much longer at the moment.

He was nonetheless surprised, when he opened the door, to find Captain Rogers standing uncertainly on the other side.

“Captain Rogers?  What can I do for you?”

Steve glanced either way down the hall before looking at him again.  “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Edwin said, completely baffled, but more than a little curious as he stepped back to allow Steve into the room.

“It’s...about Peggy,” the captain said, and Edwin arched a brow.

“I do hope you’re not having problems with Miss Carter,” he said.

“No!  No, it’s not that, it’s...well sort of the opposite,” Steve said, shrugging helplessly.

“I’m...not certain I understand.”

“How did you propose to Anna?” he burst out, and Edwin’s mind locked up.  This was not a conversation he wanted to have, ever.  He didn’t want to talk about her, ever.  And certainly not with the man apparently set on marrying his only friend.

“I don’t see how that’s at all relevant,” he managed.

“Because you did _something_ right,” Captain Rogers said, running a hand through his hair as he started pacing the small space.  “I’m looking for ideas.  What did you do?”

“I said ‘marry me’ the moment I had her in my arms after she successfully escaped the violently escalating anti-semitic aggressions in Hungary.”

Captain Rogers paused, swiveling to stare at him.  “...right. Sorry.  You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked.  It’s just...you know, you’re the only other person here close to her, you probably know her as well as I do, and I just...nevermind.  That was...thoughtless.”

“It was,” Edwin agreed, narrowing his eyes as he considered the other man.  Thoughtless, yes, but not malicious.  That was obvious.  It was entirely possible that the beloved Captain America really was just that nervous and hopeless with regards to Miss Carter.  That much, he could understand.  “I gave Anna her engagement ring at sunrise at the top of the Empire State Building.”  Steve’s eyes widened at the admission, and Edwin shrugged.  “We’d already been engaged two weeks, but that had been a dream of hers for years.”

“See, _that’s_ what I’m talking about!”

“I still don’t understand what you need from me,” Edwin replied.  “Not only is the Empire State Building no longer the tallest building in the world, as far as I know, Miss Carter has no great affinity for it.”

“No, she doesn’t, but she’s gotta have...an affinity for _something_ ,” Steve said.

Edwin shook his head. “I’m sure you’d know that better than me.”

“Well, that’s the thing, there’s a lot of things she likes,” the other man replied, dropping into the armchair in the corner of the room.  “But how do I figure out what the best thing for a proposal would be?  How do I find the ring?  Where do I give it to her?  What do I say?”

Edwin blinked. “Captain Rogers, I’m almost certain that you could drop down in front of her in the middle of any street in New York with a circle of twine and she’d agree to marry you.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely,” Edwin said without hesitation.  “Are you really concerned that she could conceivably refuse?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be sure she won’t until she says yes,” Steve sighed.  “She’s Peggy.  She could have _anyone_.  And there’s a lot more people now who won’t expect her to sit at home and be their little woman than there were seventy years ago.”

“Have you seen something called, I believe, ‘the internet’?” Edwin deadpanned, and Steve let out a bark of surprised laughter.

“Point taken,” he acknowledged.  “Still...I want it to be perfect.  She deserves perfect.”

“That much...I can agree upon.”  Edwin studied him a moment, then sighed.  “Alright, we need a plan.  And a ring. Not necessarily in that order.”

oOoOo

Edwin tore the athletic tape on his wrist with his teeth before tossing it aside and rolling his neck. It had been a while since he’d done this...several years, at least.  But for several years he hadn’t felt like his skin was on fire, either.

Miss Carter had interrupted his conversation with Captain Rogers shortly after he’d agreed to help, and he was more than a little thankful.  It gave him more time to ease into the idea of what was coming, and that he’d be helping.  Images of the captain carrying his bride over the threshold of a house somewhere while Edwin remained stranded in this bloody tower with Stark assaulted his mind, and the first swing at the bag came without thought.

It didn’t help that occasionally Miss Carter and Miss Potts got the idea into their head for group dinners. They were casual affairs filled with takeaway cartons and laughter and sharing, but if Edwin could manage to feel anything at all, it was acute anger.  It wasn’t fair, he knew it wasn’t, these people had done nothing to him. But every story Tony told of his father and his mother and their happy marriage made bile rise in his throat. The fact that the youngest Stark still insisted on attempting to draw him into conversation only made him more resistant.

Trusting a Stark was not a mistake he’d make again in this lifetime.

After dinner tonight, he’d tried to write another letter to Anna, but it lacked the catharsis that he was looking for.  So when he was reasonably sure that everyone was in bed, he’d crept down to the gym for a more physical exercise in futility.  He remembered boxing matches after skirmishes in India and Palestine, how ironically organized violence seemed to counteract the lingering impact of chaos and gunsmoke.

Then the war came, and he had a whole new reason to fight.  That’s when the older men in the RAF deployments started buying him drinks after he took out one of their best, because all the fear and desperation and anger had to come out _somewhere_.

He’d shoved all that away when he’d been unceremoniously thrown from the service and the country, and hadn’t looked back.  He had Anna, and very particular ideas about what sort of man she needed.  It had been easy, even, because any tension or anxiety could dissolved by her touch.  Unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

Perspiration was just beginning to bead on his forehead when a sound made him freeze, automatically grabbing the punching bag to still it.  He swallowed hard when he saw Agent Barton break off from the shadows.

“Jarvis?”  He glanced around, frowning slightly.  “You’re...not who I was expecting to find.”

“Yes, well,” Jarvis said, consciously changing his stance to something less combatant and more the recognized norm, fidgeting a little with the tape on one hand.

“No skin off my nose,” Clint said, shrugging out of his jacket and picking up the athletic tape Edwin had discarded.  “Tell you what, there’s the ring.  We could do a couple rounds, I could show you how to loosen up your method.”

“Perhaps another time,” Edwin said, already unwinding the tape from his hands.  “I was just finishing up.”

“Yeah, alright,” Barton replied, flexing his hand as he wound the tape around it.  Edwin nodded, then turned away, but only managed a couple of steps before Barton spoke again.  “Only...that didn’t look like someone finishing up.  That looked like someone with a bone to pick with the universe.”

Edwin’s eyes slid closed for a moment as he battled away the ever-simmering rage at the current win to loss ratio of himself against the universe.  He took a deep breath through his nose, but only shook his head before leaving the gym.  If the conversation that afternoon had proven anything, his was a very individual war. 

oOoOo 

Sitting at the table with cup of tea, Peggy Carter watched her dearest friend and the love of her life from the corner of her eye. 

They were, ostensibly, watching television. Even as summer waned into autumn, baseball lingered like a bad head cold, and Steve, Peggy had found, could be as easily roused for battle by a Yankees game as he could by an incursion of enemy soldiers--once upon a time, it would have been the Dodgers, but he’d apparently been embittered when they won the World Series and then left Brooklyn, all while he was sleeping under the ice. It was something she’d discovered only recently, and might have found amusing to watch if it hadn’t been for two things. 

The first was this: Most people had a tell. Mr. Jarvis, for example, tugged at his ear when he lied. When he was uncomfortable, Dr. Banner tended to shift from foot to foot. When faced with a topic she did not wish to discuss, Agent Romanoff cracked a joke or simply left the room. 

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was so blatantly abysmal at lying that his entire _body_ was a tell. 

Prowess in battle excepted, Steve was not a particularly graceful creature. He wasn’t _clumsy_ , but he did often move as a man used to taking up much less space. Most of that shaky awkwardness had long since fled-- _except when he was uncomfortable._

Usually, when Steve watched television - baseball especially, she’d found - he would lean forward, engaged. Now he seemed to be trying to take up as little space as possible, mumbling something under his breath while giving her the most conspicuous side-eyed glance she’d ever seen in her life. 

Oh, bless. 

Mr. Jarvis mumbled back, and Peggy took another sip of tea. 

The second thing was that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Mister Jarvis had no interest in baseball. 

She should, she supposed, be happy that Steve had managed to draw Mister Jarvis out, even if only a little bit. He’d been only barely short of a complete recluse lately - not that she blamed him, but it was becoming...worrying. Drawing him out was becoming more and more of a trial, and she worried that he never quite seemed to settle. It was good to see him, and even better to see him with Steve, who’d seemed to warm to him when Peggy first told him about how they’d met. 

Mr. Jarvis said something - whatever it was, Peggy couldn’t hear,- and Steve chuckled, glancing in her direction. 

Oh, that wouldn’t do. 

Getting up and putting the tea things away, Peggy made her way over to the common area. Steve was facing away from her, gesturing animatedly towards Mr. Jarvis, who seemed to be regarding him intently, until--

Until he saw _her._

Peggy’s eyebrows shot upwards as the look on Jarvis’ face as she crossed the room towards them. The look could be considered nothing less than _alarm_ , and as she crossed the room the two men stopped talking and Steve spun around in his seat so quickly she thought he might fall out of it.   
“Uh, hi,” he said.  “We were just, uh--”

Steve spluttered for a moment, looking entirely like a little boy who’d just been caught out at doing what he wasn’t supposed to.

“Captain Rogers was kind enough to explain to me the game of baseball.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow.

“Was he, now? And how are you finding it, Mister Jarvis?” 

“Oh...fascinating.” 

Mister Jarvis’ hand twitched--likely, Peggy thought, towards his ear to tug on it, but he looked at her and thought better of it. Instead, he coughed nervously and attempted to look interested in whatever was happening on the screen. 

“That’s, uh,” said Steve, pointing at the screen. “That’s called a double play. See how they tagged the bases like that? That means both those guys are out.” 

Steve looked at Peggy and smiled--the guileless, unassuming smile of a schoolboy hiding something he shouldn’t have behind his back. She looked at Mister Jarvis, but he was quite deliberately avoiding her gaze by staring stone-faced at the television. 

“You’re quite sure there’s nothing either of you would like to tell me?” 

“Nah,” said Steve, scratching the back of his neck -  at the same time that Mister Jarvis said “Not a thing.”

She _could_ press the matter. It would be entirely possible to have the information out of them in the space of a stern glance and a few well-placed questions, if she chose, but--

\--the two men traded what she was sure they thought was a conspiratorial look.

“Well, I do hope that whatever you’re planning comes to fruition soon,” Peggy said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at their panicked looks.  “Because if not, someone _will_ find out, because, _honestly_ , you two are the absolute worst at espionage.”

She waited a beat as they exchanged another guilty look, then impatiently clucked her tongue before turning away.

At least they were getting along.

oOoOo

“So the ring should be ready next week--how’d you figure out her size anyway?”

“Good sleuthing,” Jarvis replied immediately.

Steve tilted his head, not quite believing him, but still impressed.  “Whatever you say.”

“Incidentally, you may want to return this to Miss Carter,” Jarvis said then, and Steve grinned as he dug another ring out of his pocket and shrugged.  “I’ve seen her wear it before on her right ring finger, then simply estimated half a size down for her left hand, being the less dominant one.”

“Huh.”  Steve took the ring and toyed with it a second.  “Did you have to do that with Anna?”

“I did not,” Jarvis replied shortly, then rolled his eyes at Steve’s curious expression.  “My wife knew I’d be getting her a ring eventually. It was much more straightforward. And, I might add, entirely irrelevant. Have you decided on a venue?”

“Venue for what?” Tony asked behind them, and they both froze before pivoting around to him. “Are you having a party?”

“Uh, no, Tony,” Steve told him, shifting uncomfortably as the tension that always seemed to appear whenever Stark and Jarvis were in the same room ratcheted up.  “It’s just a...thing I’m doing.”

“Shindig, then,” Tony said. “That’s alright, shindigs are good. We can have schwarma again--hey maybe you can even stay awake for it this time!  I can--”

“It’s nothing that concerns you, Mister Stark,” Jarvis cut in.  “If you’ll excuse us--”

“It’s something for Peggy, isn’t it?” Tony asked as they started to turn away, and Jarvis and Steve both stopped again and exchanged a look.  “Oh, please, you two aren’t exactly masters of stealth.  So come on, how can I help?  I can find a place, pretty sure there’s no one that says ‘no’ or ‘reserved’ once someone else says ‘money is no object’--”

“I’m quite certain we can handle this without your assistance,” Jarvis interrupted again, his tone now icy.  “Shockingly, there are no plans for accidental pyrotechnics or near-death experiences, so it’s really not your area of expertise.”

He spun on his heel and began to stalk away, while Steve shrugged a little helplessly at Tony.  The millionaire was watching Jarvis’s retreating back with a tense expression, a muscle working in his jaw.

“I’m not my father you know!” he burst out, and Jarvis once again halted.  When he turned, even Steve took a step back from the burn in his eyes.

“Is that truly what you believe?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous tone.  “You believe you’re nothing like him, despite being the United States’ foremost military weapons contracter?  Despite a lab stocked with any number of rockets, grenades, and artillery, enough to take down an entire country’s military forces?  Despite the fact that none of that was enough, that you had to create yourself a suit and fashion yourself into a god, a hero among the ordinary people, equal to those of Captain Rogers’ caliber, for no other reason than you had the funds and the ingenuity and the _vanity_ and no one to tell you ‘no’.  How many people have you hurt, accidentally or by association, do you think?  How many people are out there mourning the loss of loved ones because you didn’t know when to stop?”

“I’m not...I’m not the government’s weapons contractor anymore,” Tony said, although his voice lacked his usual snide bravado.  All Steve could do was stare--it was the most he’d heard Jarvis say at once in the months that he’d been there, and it...wasn’t good.  He couldn’t help wondering if Peggy was aware of how angry and bitter her friend still was.

Not that he didn’t deserve to be.  But Tony didn’t deserve this either.

Now, Jarvis sneered at Tony, continuing on his tirade before Steve was able to shake off his shock. “Well, I’ll be sure to scratch that off the list.  I’m thrilled that that helps you sleep better at night.  You want to prove you’re not your father, Mister Stark?  Think of all the people that have been lost because of your cursed family name.  Bring just one of them back; that would be the truly impressive feat.  Until then, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as him.  He’d be proud, I’m sure--it’s the Stark legacy.”  Tony was silent, looking down at the ground.  “Right.  I think we’re done here.”

He straightened, tugging at his suit jacket, then turned and strode away down the hall.  Steve shifted, torn--he couldn’t leave Jarvis like that, but he’d never seen Tony look so...defeated.  Even after nearly dying from flying into a black hole, even when all of them took an emotional hit when Coulson died, he’d still been full of idiotic sarcasm and pride.  Now...he just looked small, slumped in on himself.

“Stark--”

Tony sniffed, looking up, then cleared his throat.  “Don’t bother.  He’s right.”

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded when he turned away.

“To make Dad proud,” Tony muttered, walking away in the opposite direction Jarvis had taken.

Steve looked up at the ceiling, trying not to think of what kind of insane weapons modification would come out of _that_ statement, especially after the emotional beating he’d just taken.  Something he’d worry about later, he decided.  Right now, he was a lot more concerned about leaving Jarvis alone.  It was clear that he’d probably been alone too much as it was...something had to give.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jarvis?”  

The door was ajar, but Steve knocked on it anyway.   
“I’m afraid I’ll be unavailable to you for the rest of the day, Captain Rogers,” said Jarvis, moving to push the door shut. “I’ll send you a list of suitable venues in the morning.” 

“You know there’s a whole gym full of punching bags downstairs,” Steve said, putting his foot in the door. “I could show you. It might be easier than–” He looked around the sparse room–bare walls, bare tables, and the desk, in the corner of the room. There was a letter open on it. “This.” 

“I’m aware of the on site facilities, yes,” Jarvis said, flexing his hand before balling it into a fist.  There was a subtle shift that made Steve narrow his eyes and study the other man.  “However, I doubt Miss Carter would appreciate a proposal surrounded by gym equipment.” 

He finally looked up, and must have noticed Steve’s attention, because in an instant he’d returned to normal, his hand once again lax at his side as whatever else had been there was swept aside. Steve shook his head, deciding not to press that at the moment.  “I’m not here to talk about Peggy.” 

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight.” 

“That’s it?  After tearing Stark apart, that’s all I get?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis told him in a hard tone that Steve decided to ignore, pushing the rest of the way into the room instead.

“That’s a lot of bitterness and anger you’re holding onto, Jarvis.  I get it, I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let it lie.”

“You wouldn’t–” 

“I wouldn’t what?” Steve cut in. “Understand what it’s like to lose the person you love more than anything in the blink of an eye? To have to move through the world when it doesn’t have her, to need to throw a punch and go after the nearest target? Yeah, I think I do.” 

Mr. Jarvis gave him a careful look.

“Look, I know probably better than anyone here what you’re going through, including wanting to break Stark’s nose,” Steve sighed.  “And it’ll eat you up if you don’t have backup.  You’re the one that told Peggy that.”

“Yes, I did,” Jarvis said, looking down at his desk again.  “But it would appear that Miss Carter is…otherwise occupied at present.” 

Steve blinked.

… _oh._

“You think I’m taking her away.” 

Mr. Jarvis swallowed, and looked at his hands. “Things are as they should be. She’s happier than I’ve ever known her to be.”

“You said yes, though, when I asked for your help. Why?” 

“You said it yourself, Captain. Miss Carter deserves the best.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He _liked_ Mr. Jarvis.  It wasn’t just anyone Peggy trusted, after all, and he’d been there–according to Peggy, sometimes he’d been the _only_ one there–when Peggy needed someone to trust during the year Steve was gone. 

“If you know her as well as I think you do,” Steve said. “Then you know she doesn’t just walk away from her friends, and I’m not going to do anything to change that. I wouldn’t want to.” 

“All due respect, Captain Rogers, but I fail to see how any of this is your concern.”

“That’s just it, I _am_ concerned.  This is a dark road your heading down, if your outburst back there is any indication–”

“It’s none of your _concern_ ,” Jarvis repeated, a razor edge to his voice. “I’m not about to take another man’s pity, Captain America or not.”

“It’s not about pity,” Steve snapped.  “Losing someone that important, that’s not something to pity.  That’s something to sympathize with, something to–”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Jarvis snapped, standing and heading for the door.

“You didn’t ask anyone else, either,” Steve shot back.

“For what?” Jarvis demanded, spinning around to him.  “To listen to me wax maudlin in the late hours, to hold my hand and tell me it’ll be alright?  How will that help?  Because the fact is, Captain Rogers, it _won’t_ be alright.  No one is coming with a time machine to bring my lost love back.  So you’ll have to excuse me if I find your ability to sympathize a bit hard to swallow.”

“Jarvis–”

“I had _one_ good thing left, in a form I never expected, and now–”  He stopped, taking a deep breath.  “Now she has more important things to worry about, or will shortly.  That’s the fact of it, and something I’m learning to deal with, so I’d prefer you not attempt to derail that progress simply to make yourself feel better for taking care of the poor widower.”

Steve nodded a little as several things became clearer.  It made sense why Jarvis all but ignored him if they weren’t talking about proposal plans, it wasn’t about any sort of friendship between them…it was Jarvis’s last farewell to Peggy.

“You know that radio recording, the one from the movie?” he asked quietly, and Jarvis frowned at the apparent non sequitur.  “I dunno how Tony’s mom managed it, or maybe his dad.  But those were my last words to Peggy.  That was supposed to be it.  I was going to down in…a blaze of glory.  Well, not so much a blaze, little too icy for that.  The point is, that was supposed to be it.  We both knew it.  It was our goodbye, even if we never said it.  And then I woke up to a world completely changed, alive…but I still missed our date.  By about seventy years.  It’s not the same, I know it’s not.  And yeah, I’m…beyond happy that I got her back.  But that doesn’t change how _incredibly_ angry I’ve been at…everyone.  At Fury for finding me, at myself for _surviving_ , at Peggy for disappearing and at Howard, for all his genius, not being able to find me before she was gone.  I was furious at the world for being so stupidly inconsiderate, taking away everything I had, everyone I cared about and the world I knew, and not being kind enough to let me go too.  So you can be as angry as you want, I’m not gonna stop you.  But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit reminding you that there’s still people around.  The ‘one good thing’ you have left is still here, and I’m not going to be the one to take her away, because as much as it might confuse you, she needs her relationship with you just as much as you do.  As much as she needs me.  Probably more, really, cause she’ll need someone she can complain to when I inevitably screw _something_ up.”

“She can complain rather boisterously,” Jarvis agreed, and Steve snorted.  “You know, when I told her that…she was dodging bullets and implosions and…incredibly ineffectual and disrespectful coworkers.  I’m just…a bit lost, which is quite a different thing.”

“You really think she’d say that?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.  “Cause I don’t.  I think she’d call you a fool for even thinking that.  And, personally, I’d agree.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so highly of me, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, but there was a hint of smile at the corners of his mouth.

Still, Steve was serious when he replied, “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

“You know I’m quite certain Anna would have agreed with you as well,” Jarvis told him, and Steve went still.  Jarvis never offered up information about his wife, not without prompting.  “She often claimed I was…overly sentimental.  But I’m fairly certain she didn’t mind, because she’d smile when she said it.  She had…the most beautiful smile.  And there are times…when I can’t help but think about the fact that I’m never going to see her smile again…and I can’t breathe.”

Jarvis looked down quickly, but not before Steve caught the tell-tale brightness of his eyes.  He reached out, clasping the other man’s shoulder firmly, and Jarvis took a shaky breath.

“My apologies–”

“Don’t do that,” Steve told him.  “Don’t apologize for that.  There isn’t anyone here who would fault you for missing someone you love that much. There isn’t anyone here who hasn’t lost anyone they loved.”

Jarvis nodded, then took another deep breath.  “I’ll take that under advisement, Captain Rogers.  But if it’s all the same, I’d really rather not talk about this anymore just now.”

“Sure,” Steve said, taking a step back.

“I do…appreciate your efforts.”

“Anytime, Jarvis. Really.”  Steve glanced around, wondering for a moment what to do with himself. He wasn’t totally ready to leave Jarvis alone, but was at a loss for what else to say now.

“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, saving him from having to come up with a random topic for discussion that wasn’t painful.  Steve looked back at him, humming in question.  “Remind me…you said you missed your date with Miss Carter…” 

*** 

Peggy didn’t know whether or not to be proud or exasperated. 

Spies though they were not, Steve and Mr. Jarvis excelled at being frustratingly vague about their not-entirely-secret plans. She’d caught them whispering in corners, only to jump guiltily apart when they noticed her. She’d seen them tossing each other sidelong glances, and heard them cease whispered conversation whenever she entered a room. She’d even caught them passing notes like schoolchildren once, but never had she been able to glean even a single clue as to what they were after.

She could’ve had it out of them if she’d really wanted, she supposed, but they were so _earnest._

It seemed akin to spoiling a child’s birthday present. 

It was nearly two months later when she arrived back at her small room to find three things laid neatly on the bed: a red dress, a pair of shoes, and a handwritten note that said _Ground floor. Eight o’clock on the dot._

Peggy glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past six. 

The handwriting on the note was Steve’s; the dress was almost certainly Natasha’s doing.  The shoes were red and heeled and made for dancing, and when she checked, precisely her size. 

Well. What _were_ they up to? 

An hour later, Peggy was running a hand over her hair, adjusting a bobby pin here and there and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the dress. There was a fluttery anticipation in her stomach, a sort of not-quite-nervousness that kept curling her mouth into a smile. This - was different. She’d had two years of dancing around Steve, quiet smiles and almost-kisses and his particular brand of awkward flirting. There had been muddy battlefields, the smell of blood on the air, and courting loss almost as much as each other. Two years of knowing what they were, and would be eventually, and waiting for a dance that never came. 

Then, six months of being _properly_ his–of his unguarded smile when she entered a room, and the way he didn’t seem to believe his luck when he realized that he could kiss her anytime he liked, now. These days they had whole afternoons with nothing to do, where he dragged her through New York by the hand just to show her something else that had changed, or something that hadn’t. There were even a few slow, sleepy mornings, with Steve’s breath leaving a shivery warmth against the back of her neck as she woke, his arm thrown across her stomach as he slept.

And now this. 

It was half past seven before she was ready to go, and another twenty minutes spent fidgeting before she finally decided to descend the stairs.

At 7:50, Peggy stepped out of the glass doors to the tower to find a sleek, black car waiting on the street. It didn’t look to be one of Tony’s cars–in fact, if she’d been able to wager a guess, it looked like something more out of her time. When the front door opened, she half expected to see Mister Jarvis scrambling to open the door for her, but instead a red head ducked out of the driver’s seat, and Natasha, in a sharp chauffeur’s uniform, grinned at her and moved to open her door.

“Natasha, what on Earth…?”

The other woman smirked, but there was real warmth and just a bit of mischief behind it. She pulled the door open, and gestured for Peggy to climb inside.

“I heard you had a date,” she said. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

*** 

It was a feeling Peggy was slowly getting used to, that eerie sense of knowing where she was, but not. As they wound their way through the streets of New York City, she did have the peculiar feeling that this route was something that ought to be familiar to her, but for the life of her she couldn’t place it.

“This is your stop, lady,” said Natasha, pulling to a stop. She grinned at Peggy in the rearview mirror. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Natasha,” said Peggy, as she reaching for the door handle. “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

It was nothing like what she expected.

The car was stopped outside a small urban park nestled between two other buildings, with vines creeping up the walls on either side, and two rows of small trees surrounded by tables and chairs. Small fairy lights decorated the trees, and everywhere the faint noise of rushing water, because at the very back of the park stood what appeared to be a giant, man-made waterfall, lit from the back and giving off a soft, yellow glow.

The entire thing was fenced in by a small gate, giving the impression that she was looking at something out of a fairy story. It took Peggy a full thirty seconds of staring to realize that Mister Jarvis stood next to the gate.

“I’m surprised, Mister Jarvis,” said Peggy as she approached, taking in everything around her, “that your ear is still attached to your head.”

“I was motivated,” he said dryly, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve this very stubborn friend, you see. Very difficult to surprise.”

“Sounds like an absolute menace.” Peggy said, tilting her head.

“You’ve no idea.”

They chuckled for a moment, and then he shook his head.

“You weren’t fooled.”

“Oh I knew you were up to something, Mister Jarvis,” she shrugged off her coat, and without asking, he took it from her arm. “I’ve still no idea what.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in the slightest of smiles as he pulled the gate open.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Carter.” 

*** 

Every glance caught something new: the glimmer of candles on some of the most distant tables, a soft melody coming from somewhere she couldn’t place, and at the very back, a long silhouette she’d know anywhere, facing towards the waterfall.

Her feet carried her towards him automatically. He had to have heard her, but still he didn’t turn.

“What is this place?” she murmured.

“It’s the Stork Club,” said Steve. He turned then, and smiled softly; Peggy’s breath caught in her throat. “Or it used to be.”

Oh, _Steve._

He was waiting in his dress uniform. In all these months of adjusting to newer and more relaxed everything, of t-shirts and blue jeans and a world that prized comfort, Peggy had almost forgotten what a figure he cut in sharp, pressed army green. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the lit waterfall, with his face caught in candlelight, Peggy’s stomach fluttered and twisted.

“Steve, this is–”

“Only seventy years too late,” he said, swallowing hard and looking up at her earnestly. He reached out a hand. “But I said I’d be here.”

Peggy’s eyes burned. “Oh, darling–”

She took his hand, and he tugged her close.

“I still don’t know how,” he murmured.

She tucked her head underneath Steve’s chin, and moved his hand to her waist. “I’ll teach you.”

Peggy let her eyes fall shut, and they danced.

True to his promise seventy years before, in the beginning, the music was slow. Her senses were full of him: the faint smell of soap and aftershave, the wool of his jacket against her cheek, and the way his fingers strayed from her hip, sometimes, to draw idle patterns on her side as they moved together.

Whether by design or happy accident, a few faster numbers did make their way onto the speaker, and Peggy found herself laughing and smiling through dancing lessons. Steve, ever the determined student, only stepped on her toes a time or two before he got hang of it, and by the time half an hour had passed it might’ve been 1945, for all she knew or cared.

“You’re quite the dancer, Captain,” she said when he twirled her against him, flush with the cold night air and faint exertion. “You’ve not been holding out on me, have you?

“No ma’am,” he responded. “I’ve just had a very good teacher.”

She reached up to pull his head down next to hers, sliding her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, her fingers playing at the skin at his collar. A slow smile spread across her face as she watched him shudder–it was a small, secret thing she’d learned about him these last months, a thing only she knew, and she delighted in it.

“Peggy–”

“Captain Rogers,” Peggy said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning close.  “Just now I could think of better uses for your mouth than talking.”

A few more idle sweeps of her fingers along his hairline and she was sure she had him; he sucked in a breath and she felt his fingertips brush her jaw as he leaned forward–but just as soon he was there he was gone again, reaching around the back of his neck for her hands.

“You’re distracting me,” he laughed, pulling her arms from around his neck and holding her hands between them. “This is important.”

She might’ve frowned (it was not, as Steve would later claim, a pout, she did _not_ pout) because he scrambled for an explanation.

“I brought you here to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“It’s, uh,” Steve cast his eyes towards the ground. “It’s a pretty big anything.”

It was only then that she noticed that Steve’s pulse raced underneath his wrist, and that his skin was faintly pink under the light from the waterfall.

“Steve?”

“You remember that night in the pub?” he asked, looking down at their joined hands.  “The one after Bucky died?”

That was an odd change of tone. Peggy examined him worriedly, but he only seemed lost in memory.

She relaxed a bit when she saw him smile.

“I never had much, you know. Just Mom and Bucky. And then, you know–lost Mom while I was at school, so when Bucky died I didn’t have…anything.  Except you were there, when you didn’t have to be, and you told me I wasn’t alone.

“I, uh.”  He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers again. “That’s when I knew.”

She frowned again, shaking her head a little in confusion.  “Knew what?”

“That I wanted to marry you.”

She knew it was going to happen a beat before his hand slid into his pocket, half a second before he folded one of her hands into his, and bent, on one knee, in front of her. Peggy’s whole body flushed warm at the look on his face–wide-eyed, reverent, and just a little bit terrified–as well as the ring nestled in the box he’d popped open–a gorgeous but not ostentatious solitaire set in a band of white gold or platinum.

“Oh–”

“One of the first times we ever talked I told you, uh,” he sniffed, and Peggy squeezed the hand she was holding. “I told you I was waiting. I just–I need you to know it was you I was waiting for, and that I’m it–I mean, not me, that _you’re_ it, you’re -”

Peggy let out a wet laugh, running her thumb over the knuckles of his hand. “Ask me the question, Steve.”

He looked up at her, so earnest it made her heart ache.

“Peggy, will you marry me?”

She sank down to her knees beside him, in a park where The Stork Club had once been, and laid her forehead against his.

“Yes,” she said, and the word broke on a smile. “Absolutely yes.”

Steve beamed at her as he slipped the ring on her finger, then tipped her head back–and then they found uses for their mouths other than talking. 

*** 

Edwin made his way to the gym again after ensuring Miss Carter found Steve successfully.  He’d found himself there a few times in the past months when he felt his hold becoming precarious.  On the front, the medics had said that the worst injuries were ones you couldn’t feel anymore.  He supposed that could likely be translated to mental health as well, but after weeks of feeling like an exposed nerve, the emotional numb that had taken over had been a blessing.  If he could only get it to stick.

He understood that Miss Carter and Captain Rogers had no intention of leaving.  He didn’t really harbor any lingering bitterness toward Steve–then again, he hadn’t been really aware of how much there’d been before the captain had brought it up, so who could say.

The point was, he was happy for Miss Carter, that she was getting the things she so richly deserved with a man who’d proven more than worthy of her.  But it didn’t stop the feeling from coming on that his skin didn’t fit quite right over his bones once he was alone again, or the images of unending isolation in one form or another.

Whatever he’d had in 1946, every relationship he’d counted on, was changed or gone, and there was nothing he could do about that.  There was, however, something he could do to a punching bag.

Tonight, however, it wasn’t proving to be the distraction it had.  It took several minutes for him to realize it hadn’t been anyone here who drove him to a physical outlet, but the person who wasn’t.  He kept thinking of the crisp morning air, high above the city, the colors of the sunrise bleeding into the sky; of blue eyes shining brighter than any diamond could hope to achieve, of laughter songbirds envied, of soft whispered words of love that had been branded on his heart.

He was dimly aware of his punches becoming more purposefully violent, but he didn’t have it in him to care. That morning, they’d promised each other forever, but now it was nearly six months to the day that she’d been gone. ‘Until death do us part’ had come entirely too soon, as it turned out, and Edwin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being angry about it.  It was a fire that burned him constantly from the inside out, present even when the numbing depression acted as a weak insulator. Tonight, he felt the the flames licking at every nerve ending, and black hate at the loss and the man he’d blame until the day he died choking him–

He stepped back from the bag suddenly, drawing a harsh breath into lungs that burned as his control fractured.  His head snapped up at a small noise nearby, and he made an effort to reign himself in when he saw Clint watching him warily.

“Thought I might find you down here,” the other man said in an easy tone.  “Cap popping the question to Peggy and all.”

“How did you–Natasha,” Edwin realized.  “I was under the impression that she was rather good at keeping things to herself.”

“Oh, she is,” Clint said conversationally, wandering closer and reaching for the athletic tape.  “She can hold out under pretty much any torture devised. I have some…unconventional methods for getting information out of her.”

“Noted,” Edwin said, arching a brow.  “Although I’d wager a guess that it’s more to do with you.”

Clint shrugged. “Depends on her mood.  You okay?”

“Fine,” Edwin said, looking down at his hands and willing them to stop shaking.  He sniffed and lifted one to tug his ear.  “I’m quite happy for Captain Rogers and Miss Carter.”

When the other man stayed quiet, Edwin looked up again to find Clint watching him, head tilted to one side.  After a moment, he shook his head with a click of his tongue.

“Just because you want to believe it doesn’t make it less of a lie,” he said, moving past Edwin.  “If I was you, I’d be punching a lot more than a bag.”  He leaned to the side, stretching, but straightened again with a sigh when he glanced back at Edwin.  “It’s a shitty situation, and no one can fix it.  Being pissed that time doesn’t stop, that people can still find ways to be happy when you’re miserable, that nothing you do changes the fact that she left, it sucks, but it’s natural.  So toast your friends, because they deserve it, but don’t lie to me.  You deserve that.”

Several things struck Edwin from this speech.  For one, he was positive it was the most words he’d heard Agent Barton string together at one time in six months of knowing him.  Two, there was an odd relief in being told not to lie about not being happy.  Finally…the words “she left” echoed in his mind.  His wife didn’t leave, but he realized that Clint probably hadn’t even noticed the slip.

In any case, Edwin didn’t relish the idea of being alone with his ghosts again, even while fire still burned through his veins.

“I wonder, Agent Barton,” he said slowly, “if I might still be able to take you up on that offer for…tips.” 

*** 

Part of the planning had involved reserving a room at a nearby hotel to go to after the proposal, if it all went to script.  Steve just didn’t want to share her right away, and if the predatory look she’d given him as she stripped him of his dress uniform was any clue, it was the right call to make.

(Predatory Peggy made a run for top spot in his favorite flavors of her, but then his favorite flavor of Peggy tended to be whichever one was kissing him at the moment.)

In the morning, he made rainbows dance around the room when the light caught the diamond on her hand, and she giggled between moans.

(Giggling Peggy became his new favorite immediately, because that flavor meant that she was truly, undeniably happy.)

“Eventually, we’ll have to return to the real world,” Peggy murmured as checkout time beared down on them, but her fingers still combed lazily through his hair.

“As far as I’m concerned, the real world can wait until after the honeymoon,” he told her without opening his eyes, and smiled a little when the giggle found it’s way to her lips again.

“To get to the honeymoon, we have to plan a wedding.”

“There’s a courthouse two blocks away.  Give me twenty minutes.”

The giggle gave way to a laugh, then, and she pushed at his shoulder playfully.  “You’re not getting off that easy.”  She turned serious when he opened his eyes, and he reached toward her to brush the hair back from her face.  “After everything…this is something I want to celebrate.”

“Me too,” he replied, kissing her quickly.  “Alright, have it your way.  Let’s go face the music.”

“It’s not as if the music is _Taps_ , Steve!”

“No, but Tony’s at the tower,” he said darkly as he sat up.  “There’s a few modern songs that he might decide to go with that are…not polite. At all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed.

(If he had his way, laughing Peggy would be a constant flavor for the rest of their lives.)

When they did finally arrive at the tower, everyone was lounging together in the common area–including, to Steve’s surprise and delight, Mister Jarvis.  The former butler looked more relaxed than Steve had seen him yet, although he was still seated as far as possible from Stark.

Baby steps.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Nat drawled when she caught sight of them, smirking.

Jarvis glanced at them, then stiffened a little with an awkward cough.  When he turned, Steve’s brows shot up at the shiner he was sporting.

“Mister Jarvis, what on earth happened to your eye?” Peggy demanded.

“I…managed to hit myself with a cupboard door,” Jarvis said, tugging at one ear.  “Very clumsy.”

She arched an eyebrow, scanning the group.  “Would this be the same cupboard door that apparently hit Agent Barton in the jaw?”

“It’s a very big door,” Clint said evenly.

“Clearly,” Peggy replied dryly, and Steve looked down to hide his smile as he shook his head.  He was a little surprised that going a round with Barton was what got the fussy butler to even out, but that was something to explore another time, when his mind wasn’t totally wrapped around the woman at his side.

“I trust you had a good evening, Miss Carter?” Jarvis cut in, thankfully, effectively distracting her with a pointed look at her hand.

“I…did, yes,” she said, flushing a little and smiling.  “Very good.  Erm…”

She trailed off, looking up at Steve uncertainly, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the group.  “Peggy and I are getting married.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s wonderful!” Pepper burst out, jumping up from her seat and hurrying over to hug Peggy. “Oh, let me see–wow…that’s…that’s gorgeous.  Tony, you should come see this.  They’re getting married, she’s got a ring and everything, after only six months of being here.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Steve brought a hand up to his mouth, trying to cover his laughter at her icy tone in a cough without much success.

“Uh, yeah, baby, that’s…that’s great,” Tony said, hurrying over.  “Yeah.  I mean, I think it’s important to remember that they’ve been together, what, seventy years?  I mean, I think, relatively, we’re not doing that bad–”

“I am not waiting seventy years,” she told him, then turned back to beam at Steve and Peggy.  “This calls for champagne.”

“I think I liked you better as a Capsicle,” Tony muttered as Pepper danced away into the kitchen.

“Hey, all I want to do is marry the woman I love,” Steve said with a shrug.  “If that makes your life uncomfortable for a while, well, that’s just a bonus.”

Tony followed after Pepper, muttering darkly, and Peggy shook her head at Steve with a sigh.  He only grinned at her before looking up again as Jarvis approached.

“Congratulations, Captain Rogers,” he said, holding out a hand to shake Steve’s.

“How many times are we gonna have to go over this?” Steve asked with a long suffering sigh as he took the other man’s hand.

“Too many already, I fear,” Jarvis said with a smirk.  “Steve, then. You’ve certainly chosen a partner that is truly above compare.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just lucky she said yes,” Steve replied, winking at Peggy as he released Jarvis’s hand.

“Exceedingly lucky,” she told him, lips twitching and eyes dancing at him before she looked back at Jarvis.

“Congratulations, Miss Carter,” he told her.  He seemed to hesitate a moment, then bent down to kiss her cheek gently.  “You deserve every bit of happiness this world can grant you.”

“Thank you, Mister Jarvis,” she said, eyes glistening.

“Champagne!” Pepper sang out as she returned with a tray of glasses.  “Come on, come on, everybody gets one.  Even you, Bruce, come on.”

“I don’t really–”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re engaged, you can do one toast,” Pepper said in a tone that even the Hulk wouldn’t be able to argue with.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Bruce said, sharing a smile with Steve as he took a glass.

Steve glanced between Jarvis and Clint as they shared a look, Clint holding his glass up a little. Jarvis nodded almost imperceptibly, then lifted his glass and cleared his throat.

“To old friends and new,” Jarvis said.  “To new beginnings.”


End file.
